


Pointblank Range for Sitting Ducks

by AliLamba



Series: It's too bad we're easy but don't tell our friends [2]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Feelings, Gratuitous Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliLamba/pseuds/AliLamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day he realizes he might be in love with Veronica Mars is a bad one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>sequel/prequel to Bullseye for the Wrecking Ball</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pointblank Range for Sitting Ducks

**Author's Note:**

> It's pretty cool that you guys liked that one-shot. That shot...which was supposed to be one.

 

 

It’s kind of pretty funny how things start when you have no idea that they’re starting.

Case in point: a cute blonde walks into your party, you’re horny, you’re interested, and when she blows you off you’re drunk and impressed enough not to be put off at all. And your friends are being jerks but they think they’re helping you get laid when they encourage you to bother her and her friends, and damn if she’s not cute enough to go along with it, until she gets really mad.

You go home alone, make a half-assed attempt to masturbate as if that cute blonde had been really into your dick, and she’s probably a total freak in the sheets but you’re in fact really fucking drunk and you fall asleep in the middle of it all.

This sort of shit just happens, happens all the time.

Logan wakes up, pisses, eats, goes to class, whatever, and he doesn’t even necessarily remember the girl until he sees her a few weeks later, and she’s got gold glittery eyeshadow on, and her face is fucking iridescent.

“Hey. Unicellular manboy, right?”

Her expression is stilted, more wary than confused, as if she’s not sure whether he’s going to retaliate. Maybe she calls people unicellular manboys all the time, and the first time they met wasn’t special. He continues: “Some people call me Logan, but, whatever – “

“I’m here with my friends.”

“The one’s playing chubby bunny in the kitchen? Yeah I saw them. They look great.”

“Yeah well I should probably go back. Don’t want to lose my appetite before it’s my turn.”

“You don’t want to gag either.”

She squints at him, probably unsure whether he’s being idiotic or rude, and before he can clarify that he was making a joke she’s off.

His friends needle him for his lack of game and he goes to another party and eventually finds someone else to take home.

 

 

He’s working on some online assignment a few days later, shoving a hamburger into his face because the assignment’s twenty minutes late already when he realizes he’s only one potted plant away from _her._

“So, we’re still on for brick tonight, right? Joseph Gordon-Levitt, lots of broody teenagers, femme fatale…”

“Wait. Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays a femme fatale? Now I’m way more interested.”

“Shut it Wallace,” the blonde’s friend says, fond. “Veronica, you’re into it, right?”

“Hm? Yeah,” the blonde says, and now he knows her name.

“Hey I know,” the other girl adds, clearly fishing for a more captive audience. “Maybe we could bring your _boyfriend_ with us.”

Why does he stop eating? Why does he hold his breath?

“Boyfriend?” the guy questions. “Oh wait – you mean – unicellular manboy?” He laughs loudly, and Logan sits up straighter, and it’s a little perverse that he’s proud of his nickname. “Yeah, Veronica, you should totally – _totally_ – bring him.”

“Oh please. I bet he’s one of those guys who eats nachos in theaters.”

“Hey,” says Wallace. “What’s wrong with nachos?”

 

 

 

Logan has always been popular, but sixth grade is when he had his first ever reciprocated crush.

Marnella Rull treated him like shit then kissed him under some cherry blossoms, and it was the epitome of romance. He’s never put the pieces together, because therapy/poetry/introspection is for losers, but he loves cherry blossoms and he’s always associated bitchiness with true affection. First it was Marnella, then Sarah the Cunt, and then Jade, who it turns out didn’t _actually_ like him and was way more into mean girls herself, most notably, the queen of them all, the girl who broke his fucking heart; the girl who gave him first love, first sex, and his first ever sense of betrayal so large that you just fucking knew the world was the fucking worst…Lilly Kane. It took a heinous, nearly life-ruining year to get over her, but now they’re more or less friends. They see each other amicably at Christmas for their parents’ sake, and they only hooked up once after the break-up. Not bad, for teenage angst.

All that to say, that maybe Logan’s just hard-wired to be mildly obsessed with Veronica Mars (he’ll call it a crush), particularly as he keeps seeing her random places, most notably at college parties. It strikes him as totally odd that she even goes to them, because all she does is hang out with her three friends, and then he thinks that maybe she’s the smartest girl he’s ever met because – damn, they’re drinking all their liquor.

 

“Veronnnicaaa I know your name’s Veronicaaaaa.”

She looks pretty annoyed to be interrupted mid-sentence, but he’s sort of making a scene she can’t ignore.

“So, what you get my firstborn now? That’s how this goes?”

The idea is warm and lascivious and confusing in his belly. She’s so hot, that’s all it is.

“My name’s Logan. You can have my firstborn for free.”

 

 

 

“Hey Verrronnniaaaa I found you I foounnnddd youuu.”

“You’re so observant. I bet Where’s Waldo posed a really insignificant challenge for you as an adult.”

“Psh, found that dude in like twenty minutes beat that.”

“Twenty minutes, wow, I wonder if you can change your major.”

“I bet you could change your major – to being so cute.” He tries to tap her nose but spills her beer instead.

“Logan!”

He grins, which is a dumb response. “You remembered my name. I get to impregnate you.”

 

 

 

It’s said that stress interrupts the memory-making process, which is either really generous, or really fucking cruel of the human brain. But it goes without saying that Logan’s memories of being sober and talking to Veronica Mars that first semester are hazy. Right before Christmas break he knows that he ran into her under some mistletoe and he realized it before she did, and he can hardly fucking remember their conversation besides she was only barely mean to him at all. It’s fucking surreal. Less surreal is the look of disgust she gives him when he tries to make out with her.

Certainly there are other girls. Other blondes. He goes home that winter break and hooks up with an old favorite, but it just, doesn’t, feel the same. Sarah even tells him he’s acting weird. He’s just, he’s always had two speeds: monogamous and just fucking _not_ , and he’s feeling more of the former than the latter when it comes to Veronica. It’s really, really nonsensical, really, because she’s really given him zero indication that he even stands a chance with her, but it feels even more futile to hook up with girls he’s not really interested in anymore.

 

 

The wet t-shirt contest was not his idea.

He just…wants that on record.

It’s not the _stupidest_ thing they could’ve done to fulfill the ‘goodwill towards man’ element of their charter. They could’ve, like, he doesn’t know – picked up trash on some beach, which would’ve totally ruined a morning of his life. At least this way he doesn’t have to alter his schedule at all.

“ _Come on ladies!_ ” Mercer is their jerk emcee. “It’s for _charity!_ Panda bears in Taiwan need love too!”

It goes without saying that _Panda bears in Taiwan_ was their very first thought. Not that, it’s, you know, wrong for the panda bears, but, Logan didn’t sign up for this shit, is only there because freshman have no rights in his world, and when he’s standing on a hastily erected stage preparing to have his tiny white t-shirt doused with freezing water and it’s fucking February – he wishes he could be anywhere else. Maybe with the panda bears in Taiwan.

Lots of people are shaking money at him and just in general, and he has this really awful thought that he _hopes_ he doesn’t know anyone in the crowd. “C’mon, c’mon!” Mercer goads, shaking a bucket like it’s slop for the pigs. “This is only enough for a squirt gun! We want him _drenched_ , ladies, am I right? So lemme see that _mooonaaayyy!!_ ”

Mercer turns away from the crowd and makes a frustrated gesture at Logan, managing to convey that it’s time for Logan to start acting slutty, or Mercer will end his fucking life.

Logan barely manages _not_ to roll his eyes. And it takes a lot of fucking effort.

He tries to think of the pandas as he maybe starts moving a little to the music – and fuck it’s awkward. He lets it be awkward, goes into a dumb little personal mamba, then – fuck it, fuck it all for those tiny baby pandas – he lifts up his shirt a little. The crowd goes fucking nuts, which is a surprise, so he does it again, maybe lifts his shirt up a little more, and then he and Mercer are sharing this bewildered _Whatever, it’s working_ sort of look so he pulls the hem of his shirt all the way up and bites it between his teeth, so it’s really not a shirt at all unless it’s only his shoulders that are cold.

The screaming of women who are barely adults is nearly deafening then, and he flexes around a bit as Mercer starts shoving bills into his bucket, and then two of his elder brothers are running at him with even bigger buckets full of water and they’re ambushing him from both sides, and he gets totally drenched.

For a moment he just stands there, arms out uselessly from how he tried to prepare for the blow, water dripping into his eyes, head ducked and mouth open on a shocked exhale. His frat brothers are laughing, high fiving each other, and Logan finally grins at how stupid it all is, tips his head up to examine the crowd, and that’s when he sees her, near the back, no, in fact all the way at the back, and she’s smiling in this way that tells him she’s just stopped laughing.

Fuck _yeah_ save all the pandas.

Save all of the pandas all of the time.

 

He’s allowed to towel dry his hair after but Mercer makes him keep his t-shirt wet, even gives him a little fanny pack to wear in case people are feeling in _the giving spirit_ as the night goes on.

He’s just treated himself to a very large beer when it happens.

“You know there’s a very real possibility you could get hypothermia, right.”

He knows who it is before he turns around, and it’s hard to describe how he handles the excitement (answer: _poorly_ ) because she’s never sought him out first before.

“Yeah, well,” he drawls, idiotic grin already in place. “We needed a better charity for next year.”

“What, like, the Darwin Awards?”

“Better known as the Logan Echolls Memorial Fund.”

She grins, and a small puff of laughter escapes through her teeth. She looks mildly concerned about it, and then rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well, whatever.” She fishes a dollar from her pocket. “I’m just here for the pandas.”

He takes the cash from her with a somber nod and sticks it in his fanny pack, balancing his pretty-full beer in one hand, and when he’s finished zipping the damn thing his head pops up at her small twitter of laughter, and he covers his embarrassment with a swarthy grin.

“Hey, cut it out, you know you’re jealous.”

“So jealous. I too wish I could look like an enthusiastic dad at Disney World.”

He laughs heartily then, nearly spilling his beer, and it only peters off when he realizes that she’s staring a little at his chest, and then it’s sort of hard to sustain any kind of emotion – or any thought at all – because, fuck, she’s staring at his chest like she’s maybe kind of interested, and that is a thought that has never crossed his mind before as possible.

“D’you – d’you want a drink?”

Her gaze snaps up to his eyes all of a sudden, and it’s probably a trick of the light that her cheeks look a little more rosy. “No,” she says immediately. “My friends are here, and I uh, well I just wanted to do my part for the apes.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“We’re collecting for the pandas.”

“Oh I must’ve just been thinking of you then,” she says, without missing a beat, and he deludes himself into thinking that her cheeks _are_ just a little bit pinker then, and maybe he should be more into this whole see-through shirt idea. She rubs her palms on her jeans. “Good luck or whatever.”

He realizes his heart is beating a little faster and a little harder when he sees the back of her, and he drinks deeply from his beer, grinning like a chimp.

 

He’s feeling pretty good a few hours later. Veronica is nowhere to be found anymore, which he supposes is par for the ever-loving course. The party is in full swing and they’re on something like their twelfth keg, and he hasn’t lacked at all for company. An egotistical, infectious confidence has taken root in his chest, and he can’t stop thinking about the girl ( _enthusiastic dad at Disney World_ – god damn it’s still funny). It’s to the point where his brothers are hovering at his elbow, picking off the low-hanging fruit. One girl appears to be in it to win it though, and she’s sent a few not-very-subtle glances at Dick while she finds excuses to touch Logan and laugh at every fifth thing he says. He’s just coming around to the _fuck it, why not_ stage, when there’s a tap at his shoulder.

And he smiles like the fucking sun because she hasn’t left afterall.

Even though she looks pissed as hell.

“Hey,” Dick starts to say, always magnanimous in front of pretty girls. “Can we help you with something?”

“Yeah I want my money back.”

Logan’s confused but still happy to see her, especially when she crosses her arms over her chest and fixes him with a glare. Twice in one night, hard to complain.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, and she leans forward to pluck at his shirt. “For one, your shirt’s not even wet anymore. I feel like promises were made on your flyers. And for another, I found out that pandas don’t even exist in Taiwan, which is, I don’t want to say a coincidence, but, it certainly feels coincidental.”

“What about pandas?” the other girl tries to ask, but Veronica holds up a finger.

“Excuse me, we’re in the middle of something here,” she says, and Logan grins even bigger.

“Look,” he plays along. “I’m not sure we’re offering refunds. Maybe store credit, but even then – ”

“Then I’m going to need to talk to the manager.”

Logan’s heart starts beating just a little bit harder inside his chest. His grin drops, is pretty much gone, and in…like, a dangerously good way. He’s got to be making it up in his head, this idea that she’s inventing a pretense for privacy, but if his mind wants to run away with it then shit he’s going to let it. It just doesn’t sound at all like she’s joking.

“We don’t have a manager - ” Dick is in the middle of saying, when Logan interrupts him, all in a rush.

“Sure thing. It’s right back here.” And he’s putting down his beer.

She nods curtly, and then falls in at his elbow as he starts navigating through the party. His mind is spinning with thoughts, because he thinks he’s right, and if he’s right, he doesn’t know where to lead her. His bedroom seems pretty damn presumptuous, but then again nowhere else really offers a lockable door, and he doesn’t want to try to find a shady spot in the backyard or a free couch in the basement because _what the actual fuck_ , and then he thinks that maybe the pool room could be deserted because Dick broke all the pool sticks playing quidditch, so he heads upstairs, and his heartrate really spikes when she follows him without comment.

He releases a relieved and messy sigh when he opens the door and no one’s making out in the corner of the pool room, and then he has to hold his breath as she walks in past him. He stands like an idiot in the doorframe as she takes spins slowly inside the room, looking around like she’s not at all uncomfortable to be there, and she has some mild interest in the décor.

“So are you going to close the door?”

 

He literally can’t think of one god-damn thing to say.

“Am I?”

She sighs and the tension leaves her shoulders.

“Yeah. I think you probably should.”

He still doesn’t quite move, and she takes pity on him.

“Look, it’s clear that you’re going to be having sex tonight.” She steps closer, pinching his shirt again. “I mean, you’re basically asking for it.”

It’s hard to quite say, _yeah, I’d beg_ , so he remains reliably mute. She’s standing really close now, close enough that she has to look up at him, and he’s still in the fucking doorway like some fucking amateur.

“Turns out I’m pretty invested in saving the pandas.”

He doesn’t know what to do – at all – so he acts one hundred percent on instinct when he bends down and kisses her, and it’s the biggest relief of his fucking _life_ when she doesn’t knee him in the balls and instead does this really miraculous thing of kissing him back. He sort of throws the door closed behind them and then wraps his arms around her, not playing it cool whatsoever, but fuck it all because she honestly seems into it.

“Does the door lock?” she asks, and it’s not a fucking ridiculous question but everything is fucking ridiculous.

“Yeah,” he whispers, not willing to disconnect their lips in case she feels like changing her mind about the whole kissing thing.

“Then you better lock it.”

His heart – it must be a fucking frail organ, he thinks, because it’s having such a hard time, but then he thinks that it’s never been put through this much pressure before.

“I’m going to lock it.”

“Then fucking lock it already.”

He does, darting away, pulling at his crotch so his zipper won’t cut into his raging hard-on, and the lock sounds so fucking loud to his ears, maybe because when he turns around, Veronica’s sitting on the pool table, and she’s not wearing a shirt anymore, and her bra is blue, and fuck he’s going to last three fucking seconds.

“Your only task is _not_ just to keep the door closed,” she chides, because maybe it looks like he’s not going to be able to move.

“Oh good. I’m very task-oriented.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Then come here and kiss me.”

Logan’s good at this. He’s good at tasks. He’s good at smiling at her, moving towards her, not creaming his pants when she moves her thighs apart and he gets to settle in between them, and yeah, his dick is pushing into the table but his hands get to go fucking everywhere – into her hair, and over all of her skin, and while he’s kissing her he gets to drag the straps of her bra down over her shoulders and he should play it cool – a cooler guy would play it cool – but he’s fucking wearing a fanny pack so he pulls back and stares unabashedly at her breasts.

“No refunds,” she whispers, and it’s got that faint lilt of self-consciousness that breaks his fucking heart. He looks up at her, licks his lips, manhandles her breasts with two hands like a fucking animal (the ape reference comes to mind) until she laughs. He leans forward and kisses her again, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, and he just, physically, can’t stop mauling at her, all over her body, until she’s making little moaning noises in the back of her throat and those are driving him _insane._

“I want to go down on you,” he breathes, and Veronica’s eyes widen.

“I’m not going to say no.”

He grins, thankfully, and he sinks down onto his knees and starts tugging at her jeans, unbuttoning the fly and taking her help when he has to pull the pants off her hips, and her underwear is blue too, that’s what he notices, while she’s supporting her weight on her arms and picking her hips off the pool table and he’s tugging her pants off all at once and then she’s like – she’s just fucking naked, and he’s allowed to look at her – and her bra is still around her chest and the cups are down and _fuck, oh no, he needs this to last_ , so he starts going down on her, and the angle’s just a little bit fucked because she’s not laying back onto the pool table, and she’s so fucking short it slays him, so his head is butting into her belly until he guides her back onto the table, and then she’s wiggling around on the table as he keeps eating her out, and nothing has fucking tasted better, and it only fucking tastes better when she starts touching his hair, and then she’s just gushing this preorgasmic fluid and – just – fuck fuck fuck – it’s going into his _mouth and this is fucking Veronica Mars_ and it’s so fucking awful that _he_ has to stop, because it’s going to be a problem for _him_ if she comes.

“Oh you fucking gentleman.”

He grimaces, then tries to meet her gaze, and when she sees his expression hers opens: her eyes and her mouth, and then she’s saying: “ _Oh_.”

“It’s cool I got this,” he says, and Veronica’s eyes are darkening, and she’s wetting her dry lips.

She sits up then, shaky, all limbs and nudity, and Logan doesn’t know what to do for a moment because she looks so good when she does it.

She sits on the edge of the table, looking him up and down, and then she reaches out with one hand, and he flinches, thinking she’s going to touch his dick and then it’ll be all fucking over, and she must know this, because she grins, licks her lips again. “Don’t worry. I’ll go slow.”

He tries to laugh, but it’s fucking weak.

She grabs at the fanny pack first, unbuckling it, letting it fall to the floor. Then she reaches for his shirt at either hip, and she tugs the shirt up, and over his head. Her fingers trail across his chest, through his chest hair, and Logan closes his eyes because it feels good, but it’s not _so_ much of a step that he can’t handle the contact. He starts breathing more evenly, a deep, heady in and exhale, and when her fingers are at his belt buckle he sort of more or less has a handle on things.

“Lie down on the ground.”

He opens his eyes, sees her looking at him with fucking intent, and he doesn’t even think about how gross the floor is when he spots a good place to follow her command and does it. Seriously, it’s clear she doesn’t care either, because then she’s straddling him, and his heart is fucking _racing_ , and she tugs his shorts down his hips until they’re at his knees. She leans down, kisses him.

“Please tell me you have a condom.”

He nods, a little too enthusiastically, reaching for his shorts. The condom’s been a stable fixture for awhile, never staying so long as when he’s been hoping to use the condom on _Veronica_ , and when he rolls it on she watches, biting her lip, moving herself up and down a little on his chest in this wholly distracting little phantom movement, and fuck it’s such a relief when it’s on, and when she’s holding him in her hands, the scant lubrication of the condom letting her fingers slide up and down too easily. She pushes her hips back, readies him at her opening, and Logan’s looking up at her turned face in genuine fucking hedonistic _awe_ as she sinks down onto him. They both release breaths when he’s inside of her, and Veronica starts panting before he does, because – _fuck_ – it must feel fucking amazing to her too, he hopes, he fucking prays, because the feeling is _surreal_ on his end. Logan puts his hands on her hips and Veronica closes her eyes, rising up, sinking down.

She does that for a minute as they both get used to each other, and Logan licks his lips, because it’s hard not to take over the tempo when Veronica is clearly enjoying what she’s got. He’s never been great at coming when he’s not in control, so it’s not – he’s not going to say it’s _easy_ – but he can do it, keep his head in the game as she rides him on the pool room floor. He stares at her breasts, at her rosy nipples, and nothing in his fucking life has looked better. He grabs her ass and she moans, and it’s enough, he’s had enough of this going slow shit, so he digs his fingers into her hips and pushes into her. Veronica’s eyes open. She looks down at him, her lower lip sagging, and Logan does it again. She closes her eyes, and Logan goes again, and when she doesn’t try to take over the tempo, he keeps going, and she’s moaning a lot now, like, fuck, he hopes she’s not just the best fucking actress he’s ever seen or some shit, because it looks like she’s fucking loving it, and that makes him almost lose it, so he grits his teeth and brings up the tempo in shades so it’s not just start and then go, but she’s handling everything that he’s giving her, so he does it – he really just loses himself in the action of fucking her, and then he gets to see it – her face when she comes.

It’s so concentrated, the way her brow bunches together just so, the way her mouth drops open without thought, and he can _feel it_ when her muscles do that thing around his dick, and it takes no fucking effort whatsoever to come himself.

She opens her eyes and looks down at him, and her eyes are fucking _glowing._

“Oh you fucking gentleman,” she says, and Logan grins like the sun.

 

And after, it’s hard to keep the grin off his face, and she gives him shit for it, poking his ribs, telling him he looks like he’s keeping the location of the gold a secret.  It’s not until she’s pulling them apart that he realizes it could’ve been some huge let-down, like the _Speed Racer_ movie.

She doesn’t make so much as an attempt to cuddle, or spend the night, and it doesn’t even register on the spectrum of _things that are surprising_ given how everything else has gone.

Logan tugs the shorts back up his legs and sits up.

“So should we, uh, should you maybe give me your number?”

She releases a puff of laughter, then puts her head through the head hole of her shirt.

“Maybe that’s not such a great idea.”

He has a stab of worry that the joy of fucking has been one-sided, that maybe he hasn’t performed his tasks to her standards, but then she puts a hand on her flushed face.

“That’s not to say – _shit_ – that it, uh, sucked, or whatever.”

“Oh good. I was worried.”

He sounds like he wasn’t but he _was_ , worried, and she looks at him with a blank expression.

“But it’s cool if you only want to use me for my body. I mean, I get it. I’ve been used before.”

She’s smiling again. “It was for the zebras.”

“Pandas,” he corrects, winking, and she rolls her eyes, amused.

“Whatever. I was totally serious about there being no pandas in Taiwan though. You should _probably_ look into that.”

Logan shrugs.

“Maybe we’ll move some there.”

“Oh really.”

“Yeah, I made a ton of money tonight. And what could a panda really cost, like, ten dollars?” If she recognizes the Lucille Bluth homage, she doesn’t show it, but Logan’s still pretty happy about the whole _recently fucked_ thing and the _Veronica Mars_ thing so he lets it pass. She slips on her shoes.

 

 

 

It doesn’t really start anything. Logan is willing to die happy knowing that Veronica has slept with him once, is even maybe coming around to the idea that it’ll probably never happen again. The world keeps spinning, seems in no particular rush to get them together (their lives do not revolve around parties and on any given day someone at Hearst is throwing at least one), but the next time they see each other their eyes meet over the snacks table, and they look each other up and down before Veronica bites her lower lip, shakes her head, and leaves him hanging.

He finds that just so totally bewildering so he doesn’t immediately follow her, but he certainly, well… _hovers._ He tells himself it’s not creepy, but he’s keeping her in line sight all evening, and he doesn’t get remotely drunk. Veronica, it looks like, is having a fucking _blast_ , and it’s a pretty sweet torture just to watch her from afar. He’s trying to come up with something to say to her, some way to break in to her circle of friends that won’t piss her off too much, when he realizes the party has entered into that winding down phase, and he hasn’t even finished his beer.

It is totally, completely, _pathetic_ , and he vows to get shit-faced the second he gets home.

He’s just chugging the last of it when he overhears her.

“Yeah I’ll catch up with you later. The host is in my psych class and we have a project together. It won’t take long.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to wait for you?”

“Nah, I got my taser. We’re all good.”

He tries not to think anything of it, until she’s at his elbow a minute later.

“Hey.”

He looks down at her. “I am not in your psych class,” he observes, and he is such a fucking stalker. Her eyes widen a bit, as if she is having a similar thought.

“I know,” she says. Her gaze darts away, then darts back. “I was kind of thinking we could do something else for the pandas tonight.”

 

 

No one in Logan’s life has every accused him of genius. But they could’ve tried to warn him.

_Case in point:_ He’s not really _trying_ to define their relationship, because, fuck, the hook-ups are great enough on their own, but he doesn’t really get the scope of their _non_ -relationship until about a month in. He’s drunk, it’s the first day of spring break, and he’s surprised to see her away from her friends while waiting in line for the bathroom.

“Veronica, there you are,” he murmurs, sliding his arms around her from behind and digging his nose into her neck. She nearly woke the fucking dead last week when he did something to her neck somewhere, and he’s invested in getting to the bottom of it. “Was worried you weren’t gonna show.”

And then he realizes that something is totally wrong. Unconsciously it’s the smell that tips him off first, but realistically it’s that she’s a lot taller than he remembered, and her hair is a slightly different texture, and when he pulls back and she looks at his face he realizes he doesn’t know who this girl is at all but she is not fucking Veronica Mars.

“Whoa, shit,” is all he can think to say, falling back, feeling vaguely horrified, and the girl is looking like someone has played a joke on her but it’s not exactly the worst thing that could’ve happened.

“No, it’s fine,” she says. She pauses. “You’d be surprised by how often that happens to me, darn it.”

He’s relieved at her joke, but still on edge. “I guess you just have one of those, uh, necks.”

“People say it looks just like Jennifer Aniston’s.”

He smiles then, feeling better.

“For the record I don’t think it counts as cheating,” she says, looking a little sympathetic. “At least, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Oh no, it’s not – “ Logan starts, before he realizes he has no idea how to finish the sentence. He really should be working harder to get Veronica’s number. “It’s cool.”

About an hour later he realizes that not-Veronica is one of the sisters at this joint Sigma Tau/Delta Gamma party, so they both laugh awkwardly and introduce themselves. Logan. Parker. Nice to meet you. Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, maybe. Stay away from my neck, ha ha.

He thinks about this the next time he’s alone with the real Veronica, with his hand under her shirt and fondling her breast, his mouth kissing her neck as she presses herself into him, short denim skirt not doing much to make him go slow.

“D’you ever meet a girl named Parker?”

She pauses, her eyes opening. “Why, are you asking for a threeway?”

Logan laughs, feeling a little embarrassed. “No, uh, nevermind.” He keeps kissing along her neck, drawing her back in, fingers twisting her nipple in the gentle way she likes. His thoughts are still marginally elsewhere. Like – that he thinks that if he’d kissed the _real_ Veronica’s neck in public, the end result wouldn’t have been a whole lot better.

“But I could like, I could kiss you in public, right?”

She steps away from him immediately, pulling down her shirt. “Maybe I should go.”

“What?” He’s lost. “ _Shit._ No.” His erection is painful inside his pants and he has to tug at his crotch just to give it some room.

His gaze focuses on her again, and he finds her staring at his crotch, then his face. “I didn’t mean it,” he says, automatically. “I’m an idiot. Ignore everything I ever say.”

The ghost of a grin teases the corners of her lips.

He holds a hand out to her (the other still making sure nothing happens to his dick while it’s still confined), and after a long moment she takes it. He exhales through his nose, and he tugs on her hand, until she’s back against his chest and he can dig his nose through her hair, inhale her scent all over again, and kiss the side of her face, and then her cheek, and then he can use his forefingers to move her hair out of the way so he can kiss her full on the lips.

She grins after a moment, and it’s only noticeable because he’s still trying to kiss her, and then her hands are traveling, making little trips over his shirt and his arms and his stomach, before her hands go right to his belt. He groans a little, groans even more when she starts pulling it apart, and then he really fucking loses his shit when she breaks the kiss, because she’s breaking it to sink down onto her knees.

And he promises never to try to kiss her in public for as long as he lives.

 

 

 

And so it goes. She makes a point of not introducing him to her friends, and makes a point of not making friends with Dick. They don’t exchange numbers, they don’t meet for coffee, and every time they do hook up it seems like a really happy accident. A few weeks later it’s time for summer vacation, no promises, no big send-off, just a fuck and a thank you, see you next year.

 

 

 

 

The day he realizes that he might be in love with Veronica Mars is a bad one.

It starts with Dick literally hurling chunks onto his bed.

“Dude, I got _so wasted_ last night I think I slept with a du– “

Yeah.

So while Dick is rolling around on his floor and Logan is doing laundry, considering breakfast, he realizes that he overslept, and that _Introduction to Law in the Political Arena_ starts in friggen twenty minutes, and that there’s no fucking way Dick knows how to use a mop. So he swears some really choice swear words, takes the sort of shower that is literally just water rinse and towel dry, gurgles some mouth wash and puts on the first clothes that don’t reek. He kicks Dick awake enough while rummaging for school supplies to warn that if his friend doesn’t clean up after himself he’s going to wax Dick’s asshole with gorilla glue.

He has to sprint across campus, push through like eighty freshman, and he still gets a really rude look from one of the presumptive TAs as they’re trying to close the lecture hall doors at 9:05.

“Alright alright alright,” Dr. Cooper shouts from the bottom of the room, coliseum-type seating in a 180-degree arc around him.

Logan is hungry, annoyed, out of breath and sweaty. When he’s passed a syllabus from the person on his right he’s not in a thankful mood, and the person breaks eye contact almost immediately. Just as well. He’d only be trying to make friends to see if this person brought any snacks, and that’s probably not fair.

Dr. Cooper starts going over the syllabus, introducing the TAs for the semester, describing how he’s going to split them up into reading groups. They’ll have five tests with him and weekly assignments with their reading groups and _that’s it_ (emphasis from the poli-sci PhD, not from him). It’s an annoying amount of work for an intro class, but not an altogether new concept for his fourth semester at Hearst, and Logan sinks into his seat wondering how much last year’s answers are going to cost him.

He’s just starting to get over his grumbling stomach, just starting to let last night’s lack of sleep wash over him, when he hears the voice.

“Sorry, Dr. Cooper. I was just wondering – when are we going to start addressing today’s political landscape?”

It’s as much of a blur of noise as the first twenty minutes of class, so at first Logan ignores it. His eyelids are heavy. The words turn to mumbling in his brain.

“When?”

“Well I just sort of assumed, I mean, election year and everything.”

“We’ll be going over that in time for primary season.”

“Yes, but – that’s in just a few weeks, sir.”

There’s a momentary pause of interest.

“Are you suggesting we skip over two hundred years of political history just to see who wins this year’s Ohio caucus?”

There’s a mild twitter of laughter, and Logan barely opens his eyes enough to see what sort of thing is keeping him awake. Some blonde near the front. Typical. Of course they have one of those.

A slow grin spreads across his face. He’s been pretty into authoritative blondes lately – no, lie – he’s _always_ been into authoratative blondes, and it just so happens he’s got a great one in his life these days. _Saturday night_ starts to replay in his head, Veronica’s aforementioned blonde hair all mussed out of her pigtails, lip-gloss smeared over half her face and his dick. _Damn_. It’s pretty unprofessional, but – sue him, it’s morning, and he didn’t get much sleep. This girl’s voice even sounds like hers, and that’s – that’s just asking for it, really.

He cracks an eye and tries to find the blonde again in the room, but he’s too tired and too distracted by better thoughts to really fight to find her in the crowd.

It’s probably not her, and his delirious mind has just made another stab at supplementing her for the other annoying people in his life.

Winter break in Aspen sort of penetrates his sleepy fantastical thoughts then, and the modest amount of blood drains from his dick. Poor Parker.

He hadn’t been trying to hook up with anyone anyway, and Parker’s lack of subtlety when it came to flirtation was more than a little grating after the first few days – after the last six months, actually. For those first few days it was easy to ignore her, her affections diluted by their large group of friends, and it was easy not to feel guilty every time he emotionally shut down in front of her when she tried to do something playful for his attention.

But then they were all in the hot tub after a long day of snowboarding and greasy dinner meats, pretty close to immediately drunk, and Dick had to go open his big fat mouth.

_“Dude, did you know that they don’t have payphones anymore?”_

_“Yeah! I’m serious. There’s like – none left. I have been looking, literally, for like weeks, and they’re all like…gone.”_

_Logan grins and sinks farther into the hot tub, because of, well, Veronica, and Veronica being so smart and funny and hot and easily slipping into his mind because of bourbon and beer. And before he knows it his alcohol-infused blood is moving places, and Parker is pressing herself into his side, and he’s too drunk and too tired to stop her. It does more or less ruin his happy buzz though, and he finishes his beer, hoping to get some of it back before he has to be a dick to Parker again._

_And then while he’s trying to get drunk and not think about Parker or Veronica, the conversation predictably shifts to all manner of hotties on campus and which ones do inglorious sex acts, and Logan laughs along with something Chip says because Chip is always an idiot, and then Chip is a peevish asshole._

_“What do you know?” he taunts. “You’ve slept with like – one girl – your entire college career.”_

_“Shut up, Chip.”_

_“The fuck?” Parker giggles, drunk and overconfident. “Is he serious Logan?”_

_Logan is holding Chip’s gaze._

_He tries to shrug, play it off, and he receives a fine chorus of cat calls and wolf howls. It’s not like they’re wrong._

_“You can’t be serious,” Parker whispers into his shoulder, and Logan knows he should be pushing her away, but he’s tired of pushing Parker away, and his mind is spinning with images of Veronica and spinning in general and… His head drops back, and he closes his eyes, because fuck wouldn’t he love her to be there just then. Wouldn’t he love it if Parker and Veronica body swapped like some really fucked-up version of Freaky Friday, but instead of just like, their brains and personalities and shit they could literally swap bodies, because then Veronica would be touching his thigh and her fingers would be moving toward his dick and he would be getting ready to eat Veronica out on the lip of the hot tub, then fuck her underwater._

_He fully appreciates how drunk he is when Parker’s hand finds his erection at half-mast, and he doesn’t stop her from touching it even in a hot tub full of his friends. It’s a totally fucked up situation, made more fucked up by insecurities about how Michelle Clearwater takes it up the ass and everyone else in his frat seems to know this and glorify it like it’s part of the Farmer’s Almanac._

_The water is hot and he’s surprisingly, sloppily drunk by the time he realizes there’s an actual possibility he might come, and he tries to play it cool as he reaches underwater for her hand to stop her work. From the corner of his eye he can see her still, that look of hurt/embarrassment/fear flash across her face, and because he’s an asshole – he gave her plenty of indication, he tells himself – he only barely cares._

_Parker gets out of the hot tub just a few minutes later, at a really abrupt mid-someone-else’s-story moment that everyone notices. A few of her sorority sisters follow her out, confused and concerned, much to the oblivious complaints of Dick, who hasn’t been able to stop bringing up payphones and the lack thereof as if it will suddenly become interesting to any of them._

He jolts awake with a nervous stomach, and it takes a minute to realize that what’s in his head is in the past. He’s in class. Class is over. Someone is trying to get around him to leave, and he tucks in his legs so they can move through the aisle. He starts to get ready himself, picking up his notebook, trying to remember his syllabus. He tries to ask his neighbor which reading group he’s in but the neighbor is ignoring him (some friend), then telling Logan that it’s all online and to check his electronic mail.

Logan frowns.

 

 

He’s checking for his name on the reading lists an hour later (it’s sorted rather predictably by last name, he and everyone Delbert to Glibbman stuck with teacher’s assistant Amanda J), when he remembers the blonde in his class, and again the thought flits through his brain that she reminded him of Veronica. The thought is suddenly disconcerting though, maybe because of that unnerving guilty feeling involving Parker, and he wonders whether he should tell Veronica that he sort of unintentionally was maybe date raped over winter break, when he wonders why he wants to tell her at all.

They’ve just _barely_ made a regular thing of it, the whole _hey look we’re at this party together thing maybe we would have more fun boning somewhere else – or here, if that’s your thing and you’re feeling impatient,_ and judging from their limited pillow talk, he’s pretty sure it doesn’t count as a relationship. It’s definitely a little different from how things were last year, when he wouldn’t think of her every time he got ready to go out with his friends and would instead focus on how much Dick spent on his hair to make it look the fucking same, or whether Michelle Clearwater would be there and whether she liked it up the ass.

But something changed after summer vacation, he’s realizing now, which is stupid when Dick is still sprawled on the ground and the room still smells like vomit, because, his friends in Aspen were right – he hasn’t slept with another girl since Veronica let him sleep with her. And just by _a plus b_ sort of logic, he worries that what happened with Parker in Aspen might’ve counted as cheating.

And that sort of brings up the whole idea of whether they even have a relationship to cheat on, when she’s still refusing to give him her phone number with snarky little deflections that drive him _crazy_ ( _“I only use payphones”_ ), and when he only knows her major is psychology through inference.

He thinks he…shit, he thinks he really fucking likes her. And the only experience he has to draw from is his ex, Lilly, and shit he _loved_ her, and – shit – does he _love_ Veronica? It seems really stupid to be thinking that now, especially when he’s thinking of his ex, and thinking about trying to find the gorilla glue, and whatever.

He’s spared the mental labor as Dick starts to stir on the ground.

“Ugh,” he groans, then blinks up at Logan. Logan looks down at him with a frown.

“So…who’s the lucky guy?”

 

 

 

 

It’s a really ridiculously average day when he realizes he does love her.

He’s got all his syllabi and has been to one meeting with Amanda J, and has more or less figured out a good schedule for when to set his alarm clock Monday through Friday. Over the weekend he and Dick played golf and then drank beer in inner tubes at his dad’s country club, so in general, it was a pretty good way to waste another forty-eight hours of existence. He didn’t once mention Veronica, didn’t really spend a whole great deal of time thinking about her because Dick had some pretty epic concerns about his sexuality that he didn’t want to/really wanted to broach the entire time.

Logan’s figured out that if he arrives exactly eighteen minutes early for _Political Law_ , he can reliably get a seat in the back row, just where it’s shaded by the projection booth, and where he can probably get a decent amount of sleep twice a week. It’s a pretty sweet get, all things considered.

Dr. Cooper has just arrived and Logan is just about to close his eyes when she talks again, that girl, that blonde from last week. And there are a few groans from the people around him already.

“Dr. Cooper, I wondered if we could spend a few minutes at the start of class talking about Citizen’s United.”

It really does sound like her voice, maybe. He thinks. Veronica doesn’t spend a lot of her time talking to him, and this class starts earlier than his brain does. Logan opens his eyes, sees that Dr. Cooper is entertaining the idea, looking pleasantly surprised to have an active participant not begging for extra credit or a study guide.

“Citizen’s United? Why do you ask?”

“Sir, the District Court just _denied_ their motion for a preliminary injunction. This is – sir, this is _huge_ news.”

It appears to be not so huge news for many other people in the room, as she only gets a few murmurs of interest and a few more groans of disinterest. Dr. Cooper’s grin deepens, all proud uncle and it’s only week two.

“We’ll get to it, Veronica. Have patience.”

Logan does not sit up all at once. No, he does it in this stupid way, where his eyes open wide while his brain processes the thought, and then like a robot set to perform one function he sits up straight in his chair, and starts scanning the room for her.

_Veronica?_

He’s all focused attention all at once, hunting her with his eyes. _No. No way._ No way is she in his class and he didn’t even notice until a friggen fortnight in. That’s just – that would be impossible, he’d identified her last Halloween from fifty feet and she’d been wearing a hula hoop inside her clown costume and a big red nose.

_Oh shit._ Of course she’s in his class. He finds her easily, she’s there, third row back, three seats in.

Veronica Mars is in his class.

The shock switches quickly to amusement, then glee, then smugness, because it’s too much to process at once and his brain is a simple machine. But smugness sticks. He feels smug being the first to find her, wondering how he can process this to his advantage. He considers raising his hand just to draw her attention, but his brain can only come up with dumb things to say like “ _What about Comrades United we haven’t even discussed comrades united_ ” but it only barely makes sense and isn’t even that funny, so he sits with the information all lecture – that Veronica is sitting maybe a hundred feet in front of him, and she’s staring straight ahead taking notes during the lecture like such a diligent little student, and he smiles for the entire hour like a friggen, friggen idiot.

What is it?

He can’t even figure it out.

She’s beautiful, sure, and holy hot damn is she a good lay, not that he has, you know, a _phone book_ of names to compare to, but he’s been around the maypole so to speak and he’s had plenty of pretty good sex and he knows that if you don’t know to hide your teeth when you’re giving a blow job then you’re not really paying attention – stuff like that. He’d been popular in high school. He’d been popular in college, and he is part of a fraternity now. I mean, sex just comes with the territory of his life, and, well, yeah. Veronica.

 

It takes all of his energy to contain this information as the lecture ends. The people around him all leave immediately – backrow etiquette and all – and he watches as Veronica hangs out at the front, presumably to actually have a vaguely adult conversation with the adult teaching their class. It’s damn impressive, which is a thought he has literally never had about a brownnoser before.

So it’s even sweeter to savor the information as he leaves, knowing he has a secret, a damn good one, and he’s going to absolutely _adore_ springing it on her at the most opportune time he can muster, and it’s going to be so god damn wonderful when he does.

 

 

He goes home and looks up Citizen’s United.

 

 

They’re throwing a party that night at his frat, and Veronica has about a 50% track record of showing up to those. He’s grinning all during set-up and keeps getting shit for it, but the secret is warm and jumpy in his belly like a baby bunny, and he refuses to tell anyone.

It’s just going to be too good.

The party’s in full swing by the time he finds her in the crowd, she and her friends on their favorite couch, drinking beer. His smile is fucking huge then, and he has the worry that he’s just going to blurt it out all of a sudden – _Hey VeronicaIm’inyourpolisciclass_ – so he hangs back for awhile, plays it cool, even though at this point he knows her friends are Mac, Wallace, and Piz, and he’s had trivial “oh hey” interactions with all of them, so it wouldn’t be too awkward to just walk up and say oh hey and _veronicai’minyourpolisciclass_.

He keeps checking in with her, not literally, because he’s only a little bit of a stalker, but with his eyes, he’ll sort of keep tabs, and he knows _she knows_ he’s doing it because her smile is so toothy, and she keeps flipping her hair. It makes the bunny do somersaults just to watch her do it, and he almost shouts across half the _party Hey VeronicaI’minyourpolisciclass_ , but he doesn’t, and he tries to drink more beer so he won’t be such a fucking dork when the times comes.

It’s maybe two hours later when she finds him sitting on the stairs that go up, nursing an imported beer and listening to Dick whine about his math class.

Veronica nods politely at Dick.

“Dick.”

“ _Ronnie._ ”

She throws up her hands in peace. “Whoa, Dick, where’s the venom coming from? If you play nice I’ll give you a dollar.”

“Psh,” he snorts, bringing his beer up to his lips for another sip. “Already got like a million dollars.”

She looks at him pityingly. “I hear they have tinfoil in the kitchen…”

“I _know_ , Veronica, I friggen live here, okay.” He gets up anyway. And glances at Logan. And then starts walking toward the kitchen.

“You know my roommate is not a kitten, right?”

“I was sort of going for preschooler? but, kitten’s appropriate too.”

Logan laughs, nearly blurts out _heyveronicai’minyourpolisciclass_ , and buttons his lips. He look at her, really appreciating the closeness of her. She’s fucking gorgeous, as always, and he wonders what her middle name is. _Shit._ That’s not a good thought. That’s a stalker thought.

“So, d’you want to…” she leads. “Head upstairs?”

He stands up automatically. “Shit, yeah, sorry. I was probably thinking about tinfoil.”

She laughs back at him. “I’ll see if I have any yarn in my bag.”

He offers his hand in a rare show of PDA, and she takes it, which is mildly surprising. He’s always liked her hands, and how small they are in his own. They make him feel larger, which is selfish, and more selfish when it comes to her hands on his dick, which helps him set the mood in his mind. Right. Hot sex coming up, not really time to compare dream journals or learn her middle name.

He drops her hand to open his bedroom door for her, still holding his bottled beer in the other. She walks in with familiarity (she’s been walking in and out of this room for the past year on a semi-regular basis, and he’s never been terribly inspired to move the bed or anything). Logan puts his beer down on his dresser as Veronica puts her purse on the floor. He raises his eyebrows at her.

“What, no yarn?”

“You really want to play with yarn?”

“Veronica. I love to craft.”

She rolls her eyes at him, grinning, then crosses the room. She puts her arms around his waist, as familiar with his torso as she is with his room, and he tips his mouth down to kiss her. They’re the same lips that were speaking so boldly in front of a lecture hall full of kids earlier that day, and that makes his chest swell with pride for some odd reason. But they’re still kissing, until he does the stupid thing of talking.

“Hey,” he says, a teasing note to his voice because he really was going to burst. “What classes are you taking this semester?”

She pulls back, a little dazed. “What?”

He gets the feeling he’s asked something inappropriate, like what’s your middle name.

“Oh, I just – I was wondering…what classes you’re taking.”

She’s pausing, a faint level of latent horror in her eyes, and Logan’s heart starts beating a little faster for a non-lascivious reason.

All of a sudden the fear drops, and instead it’s replaced by a totally aloof expression, and she’s snorting, twisting her fingers into the t-shirt at the small of his back.

“What do you care?”

It’s such a dismissive little comment, and he realizes it simultaneously – that a) he really fucking _does_ care, and b) she really, fucking, doesn’t.

And he has no time to consider this knowledge, that he fucking loves her, because she’s kissing him impatiently, tugging at his clothes like she’s got a sickness and the only cure is his dick, and fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s going to table that whole terrifying idea for now because he’s going to have sex with Veronica Mars and what the actual fuck is going on with his life.

She pulls back to yank his shirt over his head, and he has a moment while she’s staring at his chest and taking off her own clothes to look at this tiny woman in front of him.

_Fucking shit._ He fucking loves her, and he doesn’t even know her fucking phone number. He doesn’t know middle name.

But then of course, she’s fucking naked, and he’s not a fucking _monk_.

He kisses her ardently then, both hands cupping her jaw, and she kisses him back with her tongue right behind her lips so that whenever they kiss he can feel it there, like it’s just ready and waiting to be brought into the ring.

 

 

_With Parker gone it’s not hard to get all the way to blackout drunk, particularly with odd feelings of misplaced guilt in his mind that he’s not sure what to do with. He has erratic memories of pulling some stupid stunts with Dick that involve pissing off the balcony, pissing into snowbanks, and refereeing contests to see which of his friends could hold their balls in the snow for the longest (spoiler alert: Dick is probably not going to have children)._

_He has no idea how or when he stumbles to bed, or whose bed it is._

_It’s pitch black in the room, like he’s been blinded by bad decisions, and it’s still fucking dark when he knows that someone is sucking on his dick, and it literally takes no effort on his part to think about Veronica, because everything that feels good – and this drunk, everything feels good – reminds him of her._

_The sucking stops all of a sudden, and he opens his eyes to more blackness, trying to place where he is, when the hand around his cock gives a really vicious squeeze._

He opens his eyes. It’s not dark where he is, because it’s almost morning, and he knows this because there’s a little bit of light in the room from the imminent sunrise, and it’s illuminating Veronica’s grin, and she takes the head of his cock between her lips again and sucks in that fucking way that usually makes his head explode, except half his head is still in Aspen –

_He groans in high alto as pain spikes through him (he might not have children either, maybe), and he curls in on himself as if it will help._

He’s actively trying to push out the memories, fingers carding through Veronica’s hair instead as he holds it out of the way, and it’s really fucking amazing that she’s actually _smiling_ like he’s doing her a _favor_ and _fuck_ , how fucking cruel it is that he can’t stop the memory from completing itself –

_He can’t see her in the dark, but he feels her rise, and from above him he can hear her voice, and she is furious:_

_“My name – is fucking Parker.”_

Logan shouts a quick and adamant _fuck_ through his tight jaw, then grabs Veronica by her shoulders and pulls her up his body, not even pausing to kiss her as he flips her onto her back, tumbling with her, arm lunging for his bedside table to grab at the condom. She’s writhing on his bed beneath him and twisting her own nipples, clearly, really fucking into this moment, and he can’t even think he’s so bleary with noise in his head so he just readies himself in front of her, prays for the fucking best, and shoves inside her because he needs it – he just needs it to be done.

He can’t even move for a long, debilitating minute. Veronica wraps herself around him, arms around his shoulders and legs around his hips, so she’s cocooning him in this really depressing really fucking perverse mothering gesture that he really shouldn’t find comfort in, and he’s such a bastard – he loves her – he _loves her_ – and he finds it the most comforting thing in the world at that moment of disorganized time.

He drops his head to her collarbone and finally moves, pulling out, pushing in, and that velvety heat is nearly letting him forget, and the way she’s moaning so faintly in his ear is more or less driving away the memories, and Logan closes his eyes and increases his tempo, until all he can think about is Veronica, and her hips, and her thighs, and her breasts and her skin and her hair, and how she’s doing that unconscious thing of lifting her chest and breathing hard through her mouth. And her orgasm is something he doesn’t just want but he fucking needs it, he needs it more than anything, so he works them both towards a more punishing tempo, pace quickening with each thrust, and she’s following along so he really starts slamming into her, a heavy staccato meant just for fucking her, and her eyes squeeze shut and her fingers twist into his hair and she’s panting in time with his assault, then she’s whispering _yes, more, fuck, more_ , and he groans, deep in his throat, and the fact that his body is moving at all becomes a blur of wild sensation until he can feel her muscles tense around his dick. She twists her fingers in his hair so hard, and he’s slamming into her maybe five, maybe eight, maybe twenty more times before it all just leaves him in this amazing, euphoric, implosion and lightness.

And he might fucking cry when he opens his eyes – he might actually fucking do it – because he loves this girl in front of him, and she doesn’t love him, and there’s not a fucking thing he can do about it.

He wishes he had told Parker no.

 

 

 

 

He’s watching her tug on her jeans when he thinks about saying something.

Something like, “Hey, I love you,” sounds too dramatic, but it seems stupid to just let her go with this knowledge stuck in his throat.

“D’you want to get breakfast?” he asks, and she pauses enough while buttoning her jeans to stare blankly into space and then huff out some laughter.

“Since when do we do brunch?”

“Since you accidentally stayed the night.”

She looks up at him then, her eyes dark in the sunrise. “Emphasis on accidentally.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.”

She doesn’t add anything else to the conversation, just keeps getting ready, but Logan might have ADD so he gets up out of bed and crosses to her, grabbing at her wrists just in case she didn’t notice he was heading straight for her, and he looks at the top of her head until she looks back up at him. He wants to insist that they get some eggs or something, but her expression looks like burnt toast, all annoyed at having been cooked to begin with, so Logan pulls back.

It’s such an odd fucking exchange, so innately awkward, and he totally deserves it when she leaves without rectifying the stilted mood.

He sits at his desk for awhile then, watching out the window while she crosses under the dormant cherry blossoms toward her dorm, and he’s totally fucking naked but nobody cares. He’s angry that he does, care, and then angry that he hasn’t tried harder to make _her_ care, and then he fucking hates Veronica Mars for not _letting_ him care, and then he mostly just feels like a selfish, psychotic, asshole, unworthy of any of it.

He wonders what he’s going to do when he sees her in class tomorrow. He wonders whether she’ll even notice that he’s there. He tells himself that if she ever does notice him he’ll tell her and then – _he pictures carrying her books, and studying together, and sitting next to her in the third row_ – getting eggs and toast before class or eggs and toast after. Logan smiles.

Yeah, he thinks. Everything will be okay.

It’s…it’s enough to look forward to.


End file.
